Google Loveator (a Malinda Kathleen Reese fanfic)
by Nobilitatis Volens
Summary: I love Malinda Kathleen Reese; she's my favorite Youtuber so far, and as I couldn't find any fanfic on her published yet, I've decided to start one myself, in order to pay homage to the Google Translate Diva. This is my first try at writing a fanfic; I've never even read a proper one; also, I'm not a native speaker of English; therefore, read with merciful eyes.


**Prologue:**

Today I have left the University quite tired. ' _Oh, God, all of this is being wasted_ ', I tell myself, while meandering through the dark streets; for indeed such are the glimpses of forsaken memories which pass now through my mind, of homeland and family, of my former dreams and life lost behind, that I start to rumble in my very own paths towards those early resolutions, of which the continuity then seemed to steal the essence of my self. University seems interminable and purposeless; shall I ever graduate? ' _No doubt I regret moving here_ ', I mutter as I leave my route of convenience, wandering further away from both home and university.

As I approach downtown, the sound of music and laughter reacheth me out of somewhere, attracting my ears, and sight, and steps. It's a restaurant, or rather a pub, of a very familiar, though joyful, ambience! my heart, due to some unknown force, palpitates gayly now for that same place in front of which I've been disdainfully passing throughout the last two years and a half; yea, now an untangible wind prompteth me to enter those elegant halls which I despised, and sit and relax by a table I've been calling 'useless'.

Here, as I get closer, still outside, and look through the window, my manly gaze slides gently over the female bodies inside, mostly disinterested; by the window leftwise are two women, one tanner, thicker, and red-haired, and the other fairer, slimmer, and bronze-haired, surrounded by a few young males; in the middle of the room, a very temptatively dressed teenager sitteth by a table with father and mother, who make me feel awkward in my thoughts, stuck between the catchability of the girl and the question of whether she'll age as ugly as her parents. Avoiding sinful thoughts, my eyes flee to the balcony: there are some young women there, but... I wouldn't mess with them. There's a couple on the rightmost extreme of the room, though all I can see is the gentleman staring defyingly at me; that helps me control my weird arousal, and assume a more stern countenance - at the right moment, for now a family passeth by me and enter the hall. The remainder of the people present are either men, or middle-aged women, or kids.

Now my eyes are dragged back to the lasses at the left. The rightmost lady, the bronze-headed one, is sat comfortably on a chair, with her back turned to me; the other is on an obliquous angle, which lets me see her right cheek, and her nose, a she talketh; the redhead is beautiful, though it seems her hair colour isn't natural, and her delicate and endomorphic body is confidently posed, somewhat bent over the table. The brunette, however, seems to have very delicate shoulders, under a comfy T-shirt with seems to let her skin breathe quite well, as it has short sleeves and room for the air to pass; the whole of her body, from behind, makes quite an ectomorphic figure. While I look to the shoulders of the left, though, I notice I can see the face of the lads sitting on the opposite side of the table; the one on the left, before the ginger, looks pretty average; but the man sitting in front of the brunette seems... can he... oh, is he... Nay, it can't be! Wait!... Ca-... Caleb... Hyles?

In Brazil I was exceptional at only one thing: I knew *everything*... or at least a little thereof. First on the class every year, and struggling to keep my position, I couldn't do anything else; I didn't sing; I did act and write, but I didn't dance; I was bad at sports; then an atheist, I was however virgin; I didn't know any slang besides that of the poets of yore; I spoke five languages, but couldn't understand the universal tongue of the body; I couldn't initiate a conversation; neither I did draw, nor paint, nor build. I was just a nerd; today I'm a more confident, religious, skillful kind of nerd; but in that time I was suicidal.

Once upon a time, I was learning some English carols through YouTube, when for some reason I fell on Jimmy Fallon's show; then Youtube suggested me RoomieOfficial, and what a surprise! in that video the latter talked about this fair dounsel whose sweat had been put on that Google Translate thing which Jimmy Fallon had ripped off. As I kept learning about that woman, that singer (oh, I have a thing for singers!), that nymph, I discovered a word of beauty and poetry hidden in the gifts of beauty, smartness and humour which God had given her, and she inspired me to keep growing as a nerd. From then on, I set my goals for life: I would improve and grow, leave Brazil and go to the United States, where I would find people as awesome as her; and used the gift of inteligence to overcome any gaps in my capability, and then become a complete man.

Since that time, I've changed a lot: my beard has grown, and so have my body and my abilities; now I am social, and a Youtuber myself; I can sing, dance, write and read, I make sports, I speak even more languages; I've moved to the USA, to this goddamned university and course; and the continuity thereof is in my an unsettled matter, as I figured what accelerateth my growth, and what does retard it. One thing, however, hath not changed: although I've dated many women, although I've known love in many forms and nuances, since the day I learned how to draw, every time I tried to draw *love* itself, I looked more and more like her, until all I could draw was her. And would many times I didn't even think of her anymore, whenever I did I could feel a weigh on my heart that would haunt me in whatever relationship and state of mind I could possibly be. But I had never thought of her as something real, or within the reach of my mind...

... Until that moment, through that window. For sat in that table were Caleb Hyles, in front of me, then counter-clockwisely: a strange lad, Brizzy, and *Malinda Kathleen Reese*, the love of my life.


End file.
